The wild trudge is wrapped in darkness,
Climbing continuously until fatigue
Sets in and the road runs out.
The gentle curve folds into itself;
The tiny peek of daylight sniffing
Out the night chases the young ones
To bed with a stumble.
Before, curiously, narrow squinted
Eyes pry through little branches in
The darkening night, and life became,
Or so it seems, a quaint twinkly
In the tiny cat’s eyes reflecting
Down from on high.